Cloud 9
by Antr
Summary: Everyone wants to be remembered for something, but will the thing you do be the thing that you want to be remembered for? And will that thing potentially change the outcome of others predetermined path in life? Only time can tell. (PLEASE READ BEGINNING PARAGRAPHS. IT'S SOMETHING I'VE HAD ON M MIND FOR A WHILE.)
1. Chapter 1

_**You know, when I started **__**Talking**__** I just thought of it as a fun little way to show the inconsistencies within a story. But so often do I have people come to me and request their story; thinking that it will be great in comparison to the others and get a good review. Then I do the review, I say it's not good, needs improvement, or bad, and the author who I said this to either replies back: "You're an ass", "Sorry I wasted your time", "Your just doing this because you're a horrid writer yourself", "…I guess I really am that bad", etc. And when I read that I feel both anger and sorrow for those people. I wasn't saying you were bad authors in general. I just said those particular stories needed work. But obviously, you all don't see it that way. I see that now. You either take all good, or nothing at all. **_

_**So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to write this story. It will have….however many chapters I decide to put in it and you guys will read it. After that you can comment on just how horrible it is. I'm not saying the story will be horrible, but for those of you who I've bashed on, or feel as though critics aren't real authors and just hide behind their opinion to avoid the harsh judgment and criticism, this is your chance to have a say on just how bad it is. You can take apart every single imperfection of this story and say it in the comment. You may even think this story is great and still say something horrible about it in the comment. I don't care. This your chance to get back at a so called "Non-author." So here you go archive. Here is **__**Cloud 9**_

**Chapter 1**

I remember seeing the rain pouring done from the kitchen window. I was sitting in my chair looking at each little, individual droplets fall in the precise area of which it fell from. Each one never falling exactly in the same place, though most overlapping each other and sharing a common ground to which they can both dissolve into. An interesting sight for sure, but most would not think so. Which is why I'm alone. Not in a physical sense, but more in a psychological and emotional sense. I act smart, but really know so little. I act big, but am really small for my age group. I like people, but do things that make them shun me. And through all that I still keep a smile on my face. You see me and that's all I ever have on my face. A smile that reflects what I want to show other: That I am happy. I'm nothing more, and nothing less. I am happy.

My mother, who was in the kitchen, always used to ask me why I thought the rain was interesting. Well, it's a bit complex, but still very simple and easy to grasp. You see, each drop represents a single person on this earth. No one the same. Each of us living-or falling, in the case of a water droplet-through life going down a different path. Although we live our lives differently and have differences of our own, at the end of the day we all do what is meant for us. We all go down our path of life to eventually end up in hand of death as he determines whether our specific droplet will leave an impact on life by leaving behind a beautiful plant or flower, or let us just sink far into the depth of the earth to eventually be forgotten about. Obviously we don't want to be forgotten about, so we hope and pray that our path will lead us to a future that will continue on after death; and some of us are fortunate enough for this sort of wish to come true. As for the others, it's just an endless cycle of doing things over and over until you hit the ground and sink into the Earth. That's why I like the rain. Some of us are meant for remembrance and other are just there to waste space. I believe I'm a "Waste-of-space" person, but I still put a smile on my face and move forward, because I am happy.

I get up from my chair as I walk to the kitchen to see what mother had prepared. I see her at the stove looking down at the pot with a wooden spoon in her hand. She wasn't moving, but knowing mother she might have just taken a break from cooking and dozed off over the lit stove. A dangerous action for sure, but I didn't want to disturb her. She always did get into cooking. It was her passion. It was all she would ever do. From sunset to moon rise she would slave over that stove, oven, and counter-top making food . She believed that the way to any persons trust and liking is through their stomach. And boy, did she gain a lot of good reception for her fine skills in the kitchen. She had so many techniques, and so many recipes that would be prepared. Not for me though. She said I was too good for this kind of fattening junk that they called food. Although she made it constantly, and said just how much love and dedication she puts into her work, whenever I asked for something she scoffed at the idea and told me she only made those things because people are too used to grease and fat to know how anything else taste. It was annoying to me, but eventually me and mother came to an agreement and now I can have as much food as I want. She may act and look a bit course when doing so, but she loves me and would do anything for me; because I am happy.

I go and sit at the table looking at mother from across the room. Still not moving, but I'm not complaining. It gave me more me-time to think and ponder on things I've had on my mind. Like I said earlier, I'm a waste-of space person and am nothing until I can find a way to make myself known. Like many I crave to be remembered, no matter what it take. Perhaps I could become a singer; If only I had a angelic voice. Maybe I could go into politics; if they all weren't complete idiots at making the simplest of decisions. Or maybe, I could be a famous actor and star in many films or television shows that millions watch every day; if only I wasn't a bad actor. So many options dashed aside because of my imperfections. So many things that come easily to others that aren't even a possibility to me. Though, I guess no one said becoming remembered would be easy. In fact, if it were easy we wouldn't have to strive so hard to do so. It's one of those things that you always have to take the road less traveled to get to; even if along the way you come in contact with obstacles that can hinder your progress. You just need to keep going and hope those obstacles don't become a reoccurring problem. But I don't have to worry about that. If a problem comes my way I make sure to "eradicate" it before it does any damage. It's a fight at first, but in the end they go down easily. And when they do they see my smiling face looking back at them. It was like that when I had to confront mother about the food I so desperately wanted. She fought back, but in the end I got my way; which made me happy.

Mother still wasn't moving so I decided to over and wake her from her sound slumber. I got up right behind and place my head right beside hers as I look over her shoulder to see what was being made. I saw a nice pan full noodles and pasta sauce boiling on the stove at a steady beat. I look at mother, still motionless as I whisper in her ear "Mother, don't want to stay asleep for too long. Your cooking will burn." She did not reply, but I could her eyes were open; as they always were when she slept. She always did have a certain tendency to fall asleep with her eyes open. I look at her; She looks down at the pot. I say to her "Mother, please. Let me assist you with dinner. You've been working so hard." I lead her to the table and place her in a chair, but was careful to sit her down as she had a bad back due to an accident that happened her earlier. I set the plates out and put the food on the table for both of us to enjoy. I sat at one end of the table looking at mother from the other side with a plain face. "Mother, you really should eat you dinner. It's quite delectable." She doesn't answer me. She hasn't answered me since the accident. "Mother, please at least show me your listening." Still no answer to be heard from that old broad. She was always so stubborn. She could keep a grudge for years and never let up. "Is this about the accident?" I asked trying to pick apart my mother's silence. "Look, I didn't mean to snap at you. I just really wanted to taste your food, but you never let me. You always said it was bad, but's not mother; IT'S NOT!" I pause for a moment to recollect my cool. I get up and walk towards mother still talking to her as I go. "You were in my way when I was trying to get something, and I couldn't let an obstacle stand between me and my ambition. It didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't want to hurt you. But you made me hurt you."

I crouch down on my knees next to mother's chair and start to cry as I begin to beg for your forgiveness. "I didn't mean it. I just wanted it so bad. I-I just want one, small taste, but you never let me. I have it now, but it's not worth it if you don't respond to me. Please, show me you still care. Please." My eyes were running like a flowing river as I ask her to forgive my harsh nature. My arm goes around her head, and it falls onto of mine, as if it were cradling me. I begin to lighten up as the touch of my mother reassures me that I have been forgiven. I begin to smile again and begin to give mother a great big hug, avoid the place on her back that is damaged. I get up and ask "As a sign of gratitude, why don't I clean off your prized cooking knife? You always said that I could if I wanted." I pull her knife out of the red pocket it was being held in and walked it to the sink. As I washed the knife I saw all the content if it flow down the drain. It wasn't dried on, for it was used recently, but it still was pretty stiff. After I dried it off I looked at my reflection in it and saw my smiling face. "You know mother," I began to say, "this remind me of when the accident happened. Me with your knife, you sitting there eating away the food I wasn't allowed to have, and me-again- smiling as I go up behind you. Your knife in my hand, and the thing I wanted in yours. Hmm. It just seems like this happened only yesterday. Memories. Oh well. No need to dwell in the past, do we?" I walk back to mother and place her knife back in her open wounded slot before going over to my chair to finish my dinner.

"Mother, I'm so glad you've given me a second chance. Now that we are together again, you can help me with task of being remembered. I want to leave my mark on this land, and I'll do anything to achieve this. Anything at all."

_**There's chapter 1. So now, go and comment your hatred away. If I so very much deserve the harsh criticism then go ahead. Until chapter 2, see ya. **_


	2. Chapter 2

** As I anticipated my first chapter of Cloud 9 had mixed views; the reviews being either "Good/has potential" or "Confusing/long winded." I'm happy to get the mixed feedback, but like I said: I don't care for the comments. Whether it being good or bad, I don't care. So let's continue into Cloud 9 with chapter 2 (PS. Chapters will be in short, journal-entry-like, shorts for a while.)**

**Chapter 2: Monday (Anais)**

It was a normal Monday afternoon. Everything was as it should be. Kids were in school, adults were at work (for the most part), and life went on at a steady pace. I remember sitting in my classroom way in the back behind some random kid. I don't remember who, but all I cared about was that he was bigger then me; and blocking my view of the board. From what I could hear Ms. Simian, the teacher, was lecturing about future opportunities in the world ahead of us. She was saying that for most of us we will live fulfilling lives as successful adults in society, but for the few of us that don't…..It wasn't a subject I wanted to get into. "So as I was saying, within our town there many opportunities for young minds like your to achieve a good living." She said, sounding somewhat uninterested in her own words. "For most of you, you will take on average, everyday careers that help our town prosper. Whether it being you working at the power plants, or being a construction worker. Or being a teacher to bring new knowledge into young minds." She said with a certain sarcastic flare.

But then in a split second, here moody attitude turns into spiteful happiness as she begins her next, overly-done quip. "And then there are the few of you who will not contribute to our fellow man's everyday experience. There are those of you who will not make it in life and therefore will be nothing more than a useless speck. Those people will grow up to be things like sewer workers and garbage people, wallowing in the filth of there unsuccessful careers. "I know I'll be a big influence in society. It's my calling, my passion, my life. And no one can tell me otherwise." I whispered silently to myself, disregarding everything Simian said.

_RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! _"Well, I guess that's it for class today." Ms. Simian says with a slight disappointing tone "Before you go, your homework is an essay of an event in your life that may say what you were meant to be when you get older. It's due by next week, so no holding off!" An event in our lives that may state what we were meant to be as adults. An interesting project, but not one that can be handled easily. At least, for a person who hasn't had any specific events that could mark there future path. Nevertheless, I was determined to make sure that I complete this task. "Hey An." A familiar voice syas from the side. "Anais!" it cries again, making me look to see it was Gumball standing by the door looking at me. "You coming or what?" he said to me impatiently. I quickly gathered my things and went over to him before we both started to go toward to schools front entrance. "So, Miss Simian really went off on this whole successful vs. crappy future thing, didn't she?" He asked. "Yeah, I guess she did." "Honestly, the whole thing is stupid. Who cares what you are, as long as you're known for doing it well, and proud. That's all that really matters." Gumball says as we get to the door. "I guess…maybe." I wasn't too sure. What he said made sense, but it just didn't register in my brain; at least, not yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Monday (Gumball)**

Anais and I were walking home from school. It was getting pretty cloudy, but that wasn't really what I was focusing on at the moment. I starred at An as I could see her pondering on something. Probably still that stupid report Miss S told us to do. I could never understand why Anais would get so worried about accomplishing assignments. She was one of the smartest people in the class and never got a bad mark on her work. It's just something that I didn't seem to grasp. I even told not to sweat it, but I could tell that this one thing was going to be eating at her until it was done, just like every project we get.

We continued down the side walk for a good five minutes in pure silence, which to felt like ages. I decided to break the boringness by asking An if maybe she had something in mind for what to write about. She did seem to always calm down-just for a little while, that is-after we talked about our ideas. Letting her here my obviously horrid plans always reassured her that she would do fine. "So sis," I began to say, "anything specific that you might have in mind for the future self project?" She looked up, as she was looking down at her feet for the last couple of minutes, and starred at me. It was a face of question; kind of like she was asking her self what she would do and then how to answer me. "Nothing really comes to mind yet, unfortunately." She said. "Why is that unfortunate? It's the beginning of the week and we just got the assignment not thirty minutes ago. It's okay if you have nothing." "But, I just don't want to not have anything pre-prepared before I start. I always have something in mind, but this is one thing that I've always had trouble with. I mean, what am I supposed to do when I grow up? What am I meant to do? What opportunities await me in the future for me to grab? All these questions, and yet no answers-"

She continued on from there all the way home and I just listened to her ramble on and on. It's not that I wasn't interested, but it's that kind of feeling where you have to listen to an adult as he or she talks about something that only has one part you're interested in and then the rest is boring. Being the considerate guy I am, I gave a pretty convincing performance of pretending to listen, only to pop in to the discussion at the seemingly important parts. What they don't know won't hurt them. It continued like that for a while until we finally hit the house. As soon as we entered the chattering four year old stopped, as if someone pressed the pause button on a remote. She just went up to her room without another word. Weird, but oh well. I had my own future goals to focus on. Especially now after Anais's inspiring words. Okay, maybe they weren't supposed to be inspiring words, but that's just how it played off on me.

I went to my room to think things over. So many possibilities, so little time. What should I do? What can I do? What would I do?

**Still a bit uninteresting, I know. But we need to build a basis of what we're in for somewhere. Might as well be near the beginning. Until chapter 4-which will be longer, I promise-see ya. **


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